


an island that nobody knows

by Odaigahara



Series: Whumptober 2020 Plus [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Harm to Children, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Kid Fic, Pre-Canon, Protective Deceit | Janus Sanders, Sick Character, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-19
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:35:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27098206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Odaigahara/pseuds/Odaigahara
Summary: Day 1: Waking Up Restrained*Liar stayed still when he woke up, native watchfulness overruling his panic. His heart leaped when he realized how tightly his arms were tied- when he noticed the chair digging into his back- but he didn’t squeal or cry out, didn’t act like a bratty moron and demand to be let go. Sides who let things affect them like that disappeared, or got quiet and flinchy and never talked to anyone, ever, until it might as well have been the same thing.Liar didn’t want to go out that way. He had bigger plans.His hands were bound at his sides, which kind of made those plans pointless. He flexed them uselessly, wishing the rope wasn’t around his whole torso so he could get his other arms out, and tried to figure out whose room he was in.
Relationships: Dark Creativity | Remus "The Duke" Sanders & Deceit | Janus Sanders
Series: Whumptober 2020 Plus [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954141
Comments: 18
Kudos: 109





	an island that nobody knows

**Author's Note:**

> You don't need to know the rest of this series to read this one, bc they're all unconnected- just know that there's a bunch of Dark Sides and most of them are total jerks.
> 
> Also, thank you to alicat54c and parallelmonsoon for beta reading!
> 
> TW at end of chapter.

Liar stayed still when he woke up, native watchfulness overruling his panic. His heart leaped when he realized how tightly his arms were tied- when he noticed the chair digging into his back- but he didn’t squeal or cry out, didn’t act like a bratty moron and demand to be let go. Sides who let things affect them like that disappeared, or got quiet and flinchy and never talked to anyone, ever, until it might as well have been the same thing. Liar didn’t want to go out that way. He had bigger plans.

His hands were bound at his sides, which kind of made those plans pointless. He flexed them uselessly, wishing the rope wasn’t around his whole torso so he could get his other arms out, and tried to figure out whose room he was in.

Hurt’s room always smelled like blood and fear. Angry’s was full of broken toys, and Jealousy’s was full of perfect ones that no one else could touch, so it wasn’t any of those. Maybe this room belonged to that nameless Side who never cared about anything, who left all his blankets on the floor but didn’t mind if the others shoved someone into his room to beat them up where no one could get in the way... but it didn’t feel right, and Liar had never seen any others. Rooms were frightening, and he avoided them if he could. If you were in someone else’s room, they could mess with you however they wanted.

Liar didn’t like getting hurt. He also didn’t like not being in control. This room carried the stench of blood and rot, rancid and sweet, and he didn’t recognize it at all. That meant he couldn’t predict how the Side would talk so he could get away, or make a deal, or bite and let his venom take the other Side down before they could get back at him for striking first-

“Hey, you’re awake!” one of the lumps on the floor said, springing upright, and Liar flinched back and bared his teeth. Useless. The other Side didn’t seem to notice. He was red-faced and pale, hair a tangled mess and eyes rimmed reddish-purple, clothes stained with blood and mud and finger paints. Liar recognized him vaguely as Creativity-But-Not, the one who’d appeared just a few months ago and tore Angry apart when he tried to hit him.

He’d bitten off Angry’s nose. Suddenly Liar _really_ wanted out of the chair.

“Actually I’m still sleeping,” he said, wriggling to no avail. “If you listen you can hear me snoring.”

Creativity cocked his head like a skinny, mangy puppy and said, “But you’re talking! Sleeping people don’t talk, unless they’re delivering prophecies of great danger and intrigue in stories where everyone dies at the end even though they didn’t want to.”

Liar blinked at him, trying to puzzle that out, and the other Side stumbled forward, leaning over him and staring into his eyes. Liar reared back and hissed, a low spitting snarl that meant _I_ __’_ ll bite, you know I will, don’t try me, _ but Creativity just stuck a finger inside his mouth.

The offense was too much. Liar snapped at him, drawing blood as Creativity yanked his finger out, and made a face at the taste of paint. “Keep doing that!” he snarled, then hissed the worst curse he knew and said, “I love having people tie me up and harass me, it’s _so_ much fun and you definitely shouldn’t let me go.”

There. That was clearer. Liar glared at Creativity, waiting for him to hit him or say what he wanted or _anything_ , and Creativity said, “But I can’t let you go! I’m not supposed to be alone right now.”

“What?”

“Heart said,” Creativity said, and got distracted gnawing on his sleeve.

Liar waited two minutes and demanded, “Heart said what?”

“Can’t be alone while you’re sick,” Creativity finally continued, meeting his gaze with bright, unfocused eyes. “But I’m here and other-me’s there, so I can’t ask them ‘cause I can’t leave, and I can’t make a zombie to be here so I took you instead.”

The concept was so strange to Liar that he had to stop and comb through it for different meanings, trying to find an angle where the whole made sense. Being alone when you were sick was the best scenario. Sickness meant weakness meant getting hurt, so it made sense that Liar was tied up... but why was he even _there?_ Why would you want an enemy to watch you get worse?

“Do you eat people when you’re sick?” Liar tried, nerves making his stomach flutter.

“I can if you want?” Creativity offered, and Liar hissed at him on reflex, feeling more like a snake than ever without the use of his arms.

“That sounds _great_ ,” he said defensively, prepared to defend his stupid doublespeak from willful misinterpretation, but all Creativity did was grin at him. His breath smelled. Liar hated that he was close enough that he could tell his breath smelled.

“You talk so weird,” Creativity cheered. “Who’re you again? The opposite-day Side? Topsy turvy back the right way round Side? Do your organs go on the outside of your body and your skin on the inside?”

“I’m _not_ Liar,” Liar snapped. “Because I _don’t_ speak in lies. Duh.”

Creativity stared at him. “Can you say ‘this sentence is a lie’?”

Liar frowned. It was smart to go along with what the guy who kidnapped you wanted, right? Except this was dumb, and the sentence didn’t sit right. “This sentence is- isn’t-” The words wouldn’t come out. If it was a lie then he was telling the truth which meant it was a lie which meant- “What,” he finished, staring flabbergasted and enraged, “is that? I love that. Tell me more.”

“Does that mean you hate it?”

“I’m _not_ gonna kill you when I get loose,” Liar said, face hot with mortification, and Creativity giggled. _Giggled_. How dare he. Liar was powerful, he didn’t get hurt hardly at all, and Thomas called on him all the time-

“I like you,” Creativity declared. “You’re a fuck.”

“I’m _what?”_

“You’re fuck,” Creativity continued, “a fucking... snake. Yeah! That sounds right.” He sent Liar another demented grin, swaying on his feet, and fell to his knees. It wasn’t a controlled fall; he collapsed like a Jenga tower gone sideways, limbs all splayed out on the ground, and didn’t get up again. Liar stared at him, aghast and offended- a fucking snake? He didn't know how to use that bad word but he knew it was _rude_ \- and hissed aloud when he realized he was trapped now for real.

If stupid Creativity died, his room would be easy to break into. Hurt or Angry could find Liar all tied up and hurt him all they wanted.

Unacceptable. Liar reapplied himself to trying to wriggle free, dragging out his other arms to press against the bonds, and only succeeded in knocking over the chair. Great. Good job. Now he was even more vulnerable.

It took him thirty minutes more to loosen the ropes enough to pull free, and in all that time Creativity didn’t get up. Liar got to his feet, panting and snarling with humiliation, and kicked him in the ribs as hard as he could. Creativity didn’t even make a sound.

But he’d tied Liar up, and if Liar didn’t get him back for that then everyone would think _they_ could do the same. Liar had to hurt him _worse_ now, to ward the others off.

As always, the thought made Liar feel weird and sick, like when Thomas bit into sour where he expected sweet. Like food gone bad, or not cooked all the way through. Off by some degrees.

Liar shoved the feeling back and stomped on Creativity again, but he didn’t move. Liar would have to turn him over, see if he could make him react then, ‘cause if Creativity gave in Liar could leave victorious and not deal with him _ever again-_

He reached down and yanked the other Side by the arm, flopping him over and leaving his belly exposed, and Creativity’s hands snapped up to grab his wrist. Liar froze at the unexpected strength- Creativity could break the bone just by squeezing, Liar could _tell_ \- and the hesitance let Creativity pull his hand down to rub his face against it, eyes still closed.

Liar was on his knees. He didn’t know _why_ he was, only that Creativity had pulled and he had followed- that Creativity was cuddling his hand like a teddy bear, tucking it between his cheek and fingers. The touch felt wrong, too much, made his breath stop cold in his lungs. Liar took his hand back and recoiled, waiting for the next move, but Creativity only blinked open his eyes. His pupils were cloudy with fever.

“Are you always such a moron?” Liar hissed. Creativity reached out a hand and plopped it on Liar’s knee, squeezing and staring at him with a flat, strange expression, half-longing and half-wild. “I’m _not_ leaving. You _can_ stop me.”

He made to rise, and Creativity lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. Liar shrieked, snarling and lashing out with his fangs, but the other Side didn’t flinch at the bites or even the venom; he wrapped his arms around Liar and held, even as Liar’s teeth broke skin over and over again, covering them both with blood, and whined, “Don’t go!”

“Shut up!” Liar shrilled, trying to kick loose, but there was no need. Whatever feverish fit of strength Creativity had found had passed; he sniffled and slumped, and Liar shoved him off, bracing for the next attack.

Nothing happened. Creativity just lay there, bleeding and somehow not dying, so hot with fever that it _burned_ , and stared at Liar with flushed, feral eyes, blank like an injured bird. Liar surged forward, intending to strangle him or _something_ , make it so no one could say his venom was useless now like they would if Creativity went and told. He fixed his hands around the other Side’s skinny neck and-

Creativity pushed into the touch. Liar froze, his captor vulnerable and useless beneath him, and couldn’t tighten his fingers. Creativity wasn’t scared. Or he _was_ , but of the wrong thing- of Liar leaving, instead of Liar staying and hurting him. Because he was stupid and didn’t know what was good for him. Because he didn’t know _anything_.

Liar felt like he was floating. He moved a hand to Creativity’s face, placing it over his mouth and nose like he wanted to suffocate him, and Creativity snuffled and stayed still. His skin was so warm. It was too warm.

He put his thumbs over the other Side’s eyes. Creativity opened them against Liar’s touch and blinked, so close Liar could feel the brush of his eyelashes. “What are you doing?” Liar asked, helpless and terrified, and Creativity hummed a discordant note. “What are you- _stop_ it, I love this, it’s not scary at all-”

“Gonna leave?” Creativity asked, fear finally crossing his face.

“I,” Liar said, trembling, wanting to say _yes he was_ except of course it would come out as _no he wasn’t_ , because it always did, because he lied and that was all he was- “I’m sure.”

“’M sick,” Creativity mumbled. “S’posed to stay if someone’s sick. ‘S the rules.”

 _No it’s not,_ Liar wanted to scream, but he couldn’t make himself speak. There was a lump building in his throat, hot and suffocating, and his eyes burned. He sucked in a breath and it came out as a sob, tears falling onto the bloody Side beneath him, the stupid annoying enemy Side who kept looking at him and- and being sick and scared he’d leave and he, he- he couldn’t-

Liar dragged Creativity upright and buried his face in his unbloodied shoulder, choking on unexplainable tears, and Creativity burrowed into his side like he belonged there. Like a LEGO piece slotting into place, selfishness for one turning to two like nothing, like any of it made any sense. Like flexing a muscle he shouldn’t have had.

Creativity was warm. He was bleeding and hurt and if Liar left he’d get _worse_ , because he was _too_ warm. He was an idiot and gross and useless, and venom didn’t even work on him, and Liar wasn’t sure he could leave if he tried.

He didn’t try.

**Author's Note:**

> TW: sickness, children injuring each other, being tied up, touch starvation


End file.
